


Give Me Some Credit [Card]

by lonelymapletree



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean doesn't know how bra shopping works, Dean's Magic Credit Card, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Reunion Sex, Swearing, Victoria's Secret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 20:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7771843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelymapletree/pseuds/lonelymapletree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rough nights lead to bras and tights. Also known as 'Dean ripped your favourite panties and uses your desire for a new pair to his advantage as he excitedly roams Victoria's Secret'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Some Credit [Card]

**Author's Note:**

> A piece I wrote a while ago, but now putting up as a filler while I look for motivation to write new stuff. Criticism is always welcome. Thanks for reading <3
> 
> Here's a link to the song mentioned in the beginning: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfNR98ajB1U

_Reunion sex, Dean could admit, was better than angry sex, make-up sex, kinky sex or even the slow, sensual stuff, simply because it was a sort of combination of all four. He and Sam had gone on a tedious hunt, while you had volunteered to stay behind at the bunker and be their backup researcher. Well, what was anticipated to be a week had turned into three, and all throughout, you had both resorted to rather unholy means of trying to relieve yourselves (poor Sam being in the middle of it all; in a hearty gesture of sympathy, Dean had warned him on the way home that he should ‘probably find some other company tonight’)._

_When he had returned from dropping Sam off at a close-by bar, Dean was rather intrigued at the sight of one of your black hoodies resting on the doorknob in the garage. You never, if not barely, left your things lying around, so this spurred Dean into taking it in his hands and following a trail of your clothes to his bedroom._

_There, he was pleased to see you in his bed, waiting in your best pair of black panties and nothing else but one of his green flannels. The guitar opening of ‘No One Like You’ by Scorpions started to echo around the room from one of your speakers as you winked and seductively made a ‘come hither’ motion with your finger. Dean, more aroused by the second, took the hint and stalked toward you. He picked you up, having you wrap your legs around his waist before sitting down with you facing him._

_“I think I’ve just found my new favourite outfit on you,” Dean moaned with a smirk as he looked you up and down. He admired the simple beauty in the way you were situated on his lap, immediately starting a grinding motion with your hips, taking small breaths. In no time at all, he had you flipped over so you rested under him with your head on the pillow. One hand lightly cupped your breast under your- his- shirt, while the other steadied himself on top of you. Your mouth parted slightly to let your tongue dart out and wet your bottom lip in anticipation- God, he loved it when you did that –and caressed his face with a gentle hand._

_“You gonna keep staring at me or are you gonna start undressing, Winchester?” you teased. Dean snapped out of his daze and stared into your eyes, while shrugging his shirt off and letting his hands wander over your hips, down to your panties. With a low chuckle, Dean captured your lips in his, letting a slow kiss naturally turn itself into something rougher, something that left his mouth tasting like your tongue and his mind reeling at the thought and sensation of being wrapped up in you._

_“God,” he growled, making a grab at your panties and tearing them off your legs._

-

You awoke to the sound of your phone alarm, drowsy and confused. It sounded much louder today than it usually did, you noted with your eyes squeezed shut. Had you been drinking again? That would have to serve as the best explanation for the weight holding your body down and the sheer vividness of your erotic dream about Dean. He was two weeks overdue coming back from the hunt he and Sam were on, and you hated every second you were away from him. You had both gone to desperate measures to relieve the tension held from miles away; an example of such being Skype sex, much to Sam’s chagrin. Groaning into the pillow, you reached out to your bedside table to turn it off, only to grab at empty air. Furrowing your eyebrows, you finally opened your eyes. You were in Dean’s room, and your phone was on the floor, attached to a speaker. Had you fallen asleep here?

_Oh_.

_Wait._

“Christ, sweetheart, turn it down,” Dean mumbled into your shoulder, reaching over you to turn on a lamp. Unlike your eyes, which squeezed shut at the sudden bright intrusion, your mouth fell open, memories trickling back. He really was back- three weeks of drinking alone and fantasizing had warped your actual recollections into something of a fuzzy dream. You tried rolling the other way to embrace him, but the fact that more than half his body was pressed onto your back made it a bit hard. One hand squeezed your breast, the other pulling you closer to him by your hips.

“I can’t if you’re crushing me,” you whined, trying to break out of his grip. “And good morning to you too.”

Dean shrugged and made an ‘oh well’ noise, rolling the two of you over so you lay on the opposite side of the bed. You now lay even farther away from your alarm, which was one of your favourite songs now ended and starting again. You sighed, resigning to letting him engulf you. It was nice, after all, after the embarrassment of bunching up pillows and putting Dean’s shirts on them in an attempt to recreate the moment you were in now. His grip was now loosened enough so you could lift your upper body and peer over the side of the bed. His jeans stared back at you, and the shirt of his you were wearing lay not far from that. Your eyes wandered along the floor languidly, until they rested on a certain article of clothing that stood out among others for one reason.

“Dean, do I ever talk about how stunningly sexy it is when you rip my clothes off me?” you started. As fantastic as it was having the love of your little hunter life spooning you after mind-blowing reunion sex, it was only a matter of time before someone did something accidentally infuriating to the other.

“Is it?” Dean mused. You almost couldn’t be angry at him- him and his dopey grin against your shoulder, his cheekiness, his voice that got impossibly deeper and rougher when he awoke. “I mean, neither of us have enough on ourselves to prove the point, but thanks, I guess.”

“Yeah, having my panties _literally ripped_ , nothing tops that.”

“… _Shit_ ,” he breathed after a few moments. He craned his neck over your head to search the room for the panties in question, before finding them in the middle of the room, spread out as if someone had laid them there, and sporting a grand tear in the middle that separated one half from the other. They were ruined.

“Shit, honey, I’ll buy you a new pair, okay?” Dean stuttered over his words. He knew very well those were your favourite panties. You described them as ‘your Impala’, and he never really understood why, or how a piece of cloth could represent something so dear to you like his own _car_ was to him. He didn’t understand much of the sentimental value of them either, other than it was something of a confidence booster to you, but he respected your love for them nonetheless. Especially since you only wore them for him on ‘special occasions’.

“Dean, no, it’s fine,” you said, voice dead and flat. “Just give me your credit card and I’ll get another pair myself.”

It was in that moment exactly, Dean knew he had done fucked up.

“No, no, no, I’ll come with you,” Dean insisted. He was determined to keep you in nothing but the highest of spirits during your time together, since you both knew it would inevitably be cut short by the calling of another hunt. “We’ll find somewhere nice, and I’ll find those exact freakin’ panties, and I’ll buy five hundred of ‘em in different colours, I promise.”

You finally turned around to face him, looking into his concerned eyes. The glint of striking green stood out in the light emanating from the lamp, and it almost sent you running the other way. That was the thing about Dean; he was self-sacrificing. Whether it be insisting he sell his own soul (or what you thought was left of it, anyway; the boys had gone through a ridiculous amount of trial and tribulation) should a werewolf do so much as twist your ankle, or giving up _Dr. Sexy MD_ so you could watch whichever show you decided to marathon at that moment. Everything he did was to benefit someone. And dammit, one look into his eyes made you want to cradle him and refuse any offer he had to make.

“I’m just gonna buy some sports bras and another pair, nothing special,” you pursed your lips, uneasy at the sudden smirk Dean was producing. “What else do you have in mind?”

-

“Dean, you know this place is expensive, right?” you tried, tapping your fingers anxiously on the leather seat of the Impala. Dean made a dismissive grunting noise as he pulled into an empty parking spot. There was no going back. After deciding on his plan, he got in touch with Sam (who had actually spent the night at some girl’s house a ways away from the bunker) and told him he and you were going on a ‘very important supply run, and don’t be worried in case we don’t make it back for dinner’. Then, with nothing but his wallet and his box of cassettes, he drove you in the early hours from Kansas to Nebraska to the closest Victoria’s Secret location.

Fucking _Nebraska._

100% of this was ridiculous when you could’ve just hit up the nearest department store and bought something really cheap. But once Dean had something in his mind, it was hard enough convincing him to do anything but, let alone refuse the deal.

“Which means good material, right?” Dean cocked his head in your direction and winked.

“I guess,” you said, opening Baby’s door and immediately making your way to the shopping center.

If Victoria had secrets, the loud pop music of the store did a good job of covering them up. The walls inside were black marble, littered by giant screens displaying fashion shows and photoshopped models rolling on plush beds. Racks upon racks of brightly-coloured lingerie were lined up in front of you, begging you to run your fingers along the expensive material. You felt twitchy and anxious, what with the number of single women eyeing Dean up the second you two walked in, and the odd male of a couple giving him a sympathetic glance.

“Hey. Hey, babe.” You heard Dean’s voice farther from you than it had been a second ago, when you realized he was right in front of you, gesturing to a mannequin with a bright smile on his face. The mannequin, plastic, white and thin in all its glory, struck a permanent pose and showed off something indescribable as anything other than poufy, sequined and _tacky_. With a small smile on your face, you shook your head at Dean and dragged him along quietly as he prattled off like a four-year-old, saying something about angel wings and “No, never mind. Goddamn angels ruining shit all the time.” You set him to the side, letting him watch you saunter to the first shelf and sift through the basic-pattern panties.

Leopard print. _Animalistic and only served to make you think of middle-aged-plus women prowling outside nightclubs._

Neon pink. _Cute, but the placement of that string in the back had you worrying a bit._

And no. Just, no to that one.

And that one.

“Sweetheart, I thought we were here to buy you _panties_ ,” Dean groaned, having suddenly materialized at your right side. It was time to play angel at this devil of a situation.

“We are. See?” you grinned, scooping up a handful of leopard print panties and shaking them in his face. He instantly recoiled, probably thinking the same thing you were.

“No, I mean, if I’m buying you panties, I’m buying you _panties_. Not this full-coverage dollar store shit. C’mon, there’s a whole room of thongs I wanna check out,” he huffed. Before you could make a remark about ‘dollar store shit’, he was throwing an arm around your shoulders and sashaying through the seemingly endless store to the brightest, most outrageous corner, right across from the try-on rooms. Your eyes widened at the sight. It was like going on a spirit hunt but getting dragged into some demon shit. How Dean snuck out from behind you long enough to meander through the store and find this, you couldn’t fathom. All you could do was stare with your eyebrows raised as he picked up various styles of lingerie from the shelves and hangers, and tossed them to you until you were being pushed into the lineup to the try-on room.

“How many will that be?” the $10-dollar-an-hour saleslady grinned at you, taking note not to make eye contact with a scheming Dean Winchester.

“Eh…” you looked down at the miscellaneous pile in your hands. “I’m not really sure.”

The saleslady, _Ellie_ from her nametag, smiled even wider and reached for the things in your hands. You watched swiftly counting each item, watched her eyes widen slightly at either the choices or the number of them. Finally, she gestured to a pink door labelled ‘Gorgeous’. You let out a string of gratitude and carefully made your way to the door, followed by your boyfriend.

“Uh, sir!” Ellie exclaimed. “One guest per change room, please! You’re going to have to wait outside.”

Dean’s shoulders fell, his smirk gone at the thought of missing out on your lingerie-clad body. Whatever fantasies he had to ‘discreetly’ fuck you in a public change room were stolen by the fake-expression saleslady in the black and white-striped shirt. Much to _your_ displeasure, of course.

“Aw, honey,” you pouted teasingly. “I’ll send you pictures, don’t worry.”

Dean narrowed his eyes.

And with that, he was off again, on some new mission to be completed within the black marble walls of Victoria’s Secret. With a knowing beam on you, you got behind the closed doors and set to work trying on what he had thrown at you.

“What the hell?” you hummed as you picked up the first matching outfit. A corset, black lace with small gold ribbons tossed here and there. Curiosity peaking, you stripped and slipped it on, only to find it a size too, _too_ small.

As was the magenta bombshell bra. And the blue silk panties. And pretty much every article after those. It dawned on you that in his rush of excitement at the sight of such pleasantries, Dean had hurriedly grabbed the first off every pile. Which, as known by most seasoned shoppers, was always the smallest size. Like, prepubescent-teen-discovering-Victoria's small.

“Goddammit, Dean,” you grumbled, shoving your legs through your jeans and your arms through your sweatshirt. On your way out of the change room, you dropped everything on Ellie's hands with a sorry expression on your face. Weaving through the chattering crowd, you finally found your boyfriend on his phone, taking a selfie with the same angel mannequin you had seen walking in. The smart-mouthed fuck was probably going to show it to Castiel and make some second-hand attempt at humour with him.

“Credit card. Now,” you demanded, hand out expectantly.

“Manners, sweetheart,” Dean teased, fishing it out of his wallet. “Where’d the pictures go?”

“It’s a surprise,” you replied, trying to reach the card from where Dean was holding it high above his head. Exasperated, you gently pressed your lips to his long enough to catch him off his guard, before pushing him off.

“Wait in the car,” you said, shoving him out the door.

When you emerged fifteen minutes later with a medium-sized Victoria’s Secret shopping bag, you had to do your best to wrestle it out of Dean’s grasp and place it haphazardly in the backseat while trying to get the car started.

“It’s a surprise!” you explained loudly, turning on the cassette player in an attempt to serve a distraction. It worked; Dean with a huff turned around and backed out of the parking lot. He tried to act solemn on the ride to the bunker, but constant glances at him proved he was only trying to guilt you into an early show. _Iron will and nerves of steel_ , you repeated to yourself as he cast a longing, puppy-dog gaze at you.

To say the least, your iron will and nerves of steel felt quite rusted by the time you pulled into the garage. You awkwardly stretched your legs, doing ridiculous lunges while simultaneously holding the VS bag away from Dean. You jogged to the bathroom, waving a quick hello to Sam, who looked serenely fucked over, on the way. There, you made quick work of stripping of your clothing and arranging your surprise for Dean onto your body. It fit quite nicely, thank the angels. You chewed your lip in embarrassment as you pulled your on oversized sweatshirt. Picking up your jeans, you made quick work of exiting the bathroom, exchanging your jeans for nothing and a pair of high heels, and _click-clacking_ your way to the current residence of Dean Winchester.

You knocked on his door, upon seeing that it was not quite closed but closed enough that you felt the need to ask permission before entering. There was a creaking of bedsprings and a surprised grunt.

“Yeah?”

“I’m ready, honey,” you prompted.

“Oh.” You heard the sound of the bedsprings jumping in time with him springing up to answer. He quietly padded to the door and opened it just a crack, allowing himself only the smallest glimpse of you. His eyes travelled up and down your body, and you shared a mutual blush. He grinned widely, and the door swung open long enough for you to catch a fleeting glimpse of him, already half-naked and wholly-erect. His arms wrapped around your waist, and before you knew it, you were in the air and then slung over his shoulder. He dropped you unceremoniously on his bed, and as you settled in a sitting position, he made the visual cue for you to take off your sweatshirt. When you did, he once again eyed you up and down, causing you to hide behind your hair and let out a small giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he grumbled, pulling off his Henley and crawling over you. You smiled widely, looking up at the man with a great adoration in your eyes. And in your sweetest, purest voice, you sang,

“Dean Winchester, rip these and I will take it upon myself to smash the windows of your car.”


End file.
